Scotland, 13.08.06

I got back from our holiday to Scotland yesterday. I and Mom left on Sunday morning after a fry-up breakfast. Dad and William didn’t come because family holidays are frustrating and generally un-enjoyable, as proven by trips to places like Portugal and our previous trip to Scotland. We have relatives up north in Scotland, around the Elgin area. It’s an eight hour drive up there, and Mom wasn’t willing to do it in one go (and who can blame her?), so we had to stop at several B&B’s along the way. The first stage of the drive was up the motorway, through Edinburgh, past Dunfermline and into Carnock, where our first B&B was. This B&B was situated on a farm, and had a tranquil aura to it with its fresh, crispy air and its cheerful hostess.1

We didn’t know it at the time, but this was to be the best B&B we would stay in. We had a choice of our breakfast (a checklist including what drink you would like, what meat in your sausage, how you’d like your eggs, etc) and a choice of when to have it, and everything was generally nice, fresh, clean and hospitable. The bathroom was huge, and we had it all to ourselves, and a huge rug was lying on the middle of the floor on which I enjoyed doing my morning press-ups. Unfortunately, the lady wouldn’t take dogs, so Maisie had to stay in the boot. We reasoned that maybe other B&B’s would allow dogs, and so this would just be a one off. We were wrong, but we didn’t know that at the time.2

So we walked Maisie and strolled down to the local pub after everything was sorted. I had not yet drifted into any melancholy brooding as seems to be my inclination, as I found the reality of being in Scotland invigorating. I had been yearning for Scotland for some time, and especially for the great wide sea. The fact that I would soon be seeing the great blue was having an uplifting affect on me. We went to the beer garden and sat in the shade. Mom ordered drinks, and I decided to have an orange squash. When mom asked me why I didn’t have a beer, I said “I only drink to be sociable”, to which she replied “so aren’t you sociable with your mother?” I suppose I did put my foot in it there.3

We were told that we would have to eat inside, as the pub was ‘too busy’ to serve outside. What difference a few yards makes, I don’t know, but what can you do? We decided to go inside after our drinks. We were nearly finished when a man came out of the pub and sat on a table in the sunlight, holding one hand over his eyes and holding a beer in the other. I eyed him dubiously until we went inside, at which point he followed us through and introduced himself as Chip from America. As it turned out, Chip had been through some rough times. Over the course of a few hours, he enjoyed telling us all about how his ex-wife had milked him for money and then ran off with another man after a six-month affair. I say delight because there’s always a certain grim satisfaction in the sharing of sorrow between folk.4

While Chip was talking to both of us, he seemed to be primarily talking to me. I’ve noticed this with middle-aged people – they feel a need to give advice to younger generations. Perhaps Chip felt that as he’d had a rough lot recently, it would not all be for a lost cause, as he could pass advice on and stop it from happening again. Perhaps that was his consolation. When Chip arrived, it became a social occasion (sorry, Mom), so I had a beer. He also bought me a few, so I was happily tipsy by the end of the night. He offered to buy mom a drink too, but she declined because she was already drunk. All she’d had was three glasses of wine, but due to her medication (she had recently had blood clots on her lungs, and so took medication to thin her blood); this was enough to get her drunk. I’d noticed she was getting that bleary look in her eyes, but thankfully it didn’t develop into anything further. Chip invited us to a BBQ on our way back, and mom gave him her phone number, but we didn’t go because as mom says, “It’s never the same”, and I suppose there’s some truth to that.5

After Carnock, we headed towards Fort William. Most of the day was spent on driving, and we found a B&B just outside Fort William. This was owned by a grouchy couple, and Mom said she immediately didn’t feel welcome. She knocked on the door and the husband answered.6

“Hello. Have you got any rooms?” said Mom.7

“Well, how many for?” grunted the man.8

“Just two.” 9

“And the dog?” 10

“Well, yes, if possible.” 11

“No.” There was a pause, and then, “I’ll get the wife.”12

So mom talked to ‘the wife’ - a woman with a very aquiline nose, a flat mouth and a pallid complexion, along with a plump build - and she grudgingly showed us the bedroom. Mom immediately didn’t like it because it smelled ‘musty’ (she told me later), and she asked my opinion in the hope I wouldn’t like it either. I had been oblivious to the attitude of the couple because I’d been walking Maisie, so I said the room looked fine – which it did – so fine in fact, as to be on the point of immaculate, almost as though it had never been lived in. It was only when we’d accepted the room that we noticed a sign on the wall saying:13

BREAKFAST WILL BE SERVED AT 8:30,14

NOT FROM 8:30,15

PLEASE BE QUIET COMING IN,16

AND DON’T BE LATE.17

Now I don’t know about other people, but this seemed to be not only rigid to us, but also rude. When a person owns a B&B, they’re expected to be hospitable and accommodating to their guests, not the other way round. The woman was cold and flustered from the start, telling us to keep the dog in the car “so it doesn’t bark”, and to put it on a lead “so it doesn’t get killed”. This, along with the attitude of “don’t be late, don’t be noisy, have breakfast when I tell you to, and have what I tell you to”, just wasn’t nice. Incidentally, the TV wasn’t working either. Just thought I’d mention that for another negative. As for positives – well, there weren’t any. We were just desperate for a B&B because all the ones we’d seen on the way up had been fully booked.18

Not wanting to cause a fuss, we accepted the room and went into Fort William for some dinner, to our horror spotting many B&B’s on the way with ‘Vacancies” signs up. When we got back, Mom went to park in the fenced off space at the side of the house designated for cars. While she was parking she said to me “Watch this. I bet I’m either in the way or in the wrong place or something or other.” Unsurprisingly, the old bat came tottering out and asked mom to move, in her querulous, droning voice for some insignificant reason. When she was gone, Mom said to me “I don’t want to stay here, Sam. I don’t feel welcome”. I knew she wasn’t happy, so I said “Well if you’re not happy here, let’s go.” I didn’t particularly like the place either, and the prospect of sleeping there had been like a cloud over my head during the drive back. We were going to explain to her that we didn’t feel welcome, but we couldn’t find her (admittedly, we didn’t look very hard because we weren’t eager for more confrontation), so in the end we just picked up our bags and left. As Mom said later, “I don’t like doing that to people, but the atmosphere around the house was oppressive.”19

And so instead we stopped at one of the many other vacant B&B’s we’d seen on the drive down to the town centre, and ended up with a nice one near the lake with a gorgeous view and a kindly old woman for a hostess - emphasis on the word kindly - it’s very important for anyone in the catering business, which is something I think the other woman did understand, but just wasn’t able to carry out. In all honesty, I think she thought that she was being perfectly hospitable, reasonable and polite. But alas, she was deluded. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re forced to close up within the year.20

The reason we didn’t just stay in one B&B was because Ronnie (the man who we were staying with - Moms cousin), had phoned and said that he would pick me up at the Skye bridge and give me a ride on his boat between the isle of Skye and the mainland, which people apparently spend hundreds of pounds to do – and I would be getting it for free! However, while walking around Fort William, I couldn’t suppress a feeling of loneliness. Seeing couples walking around together irked some strings. Going on holiday with your mother is in no way the same as going on holiday with your partner. Anyway, it was nice to be right next to the lake, surrounded by the hustle bustle of other B&B’s and the traffic, with a lively inflow of other tourists. I took a nice long shower and finished reading Brian Aldiss’ ‘Non-Stop’.21

We got up in time for breakfast the next day and were seated next to two Australian women, whose views on Scotland were interesting to hear. Unfortunately the breakfast wasn’t great – the bacon was under-done, the sausage had gristle in it and the eggs were watery, but I was hungry so I ate it to fill a hole. After breakfast we left for the coastal town of Obar, where we tried to get across to the Isle of Mull. Unfortunately it cost nearly 60 pounds to take the car across, so we couldn’t afford it. The beach there was almost non-existent, so we had some lunch and moved on to the Bridge of Skye. It was Tuesday and Ronnie hadn’t arranged to pick me up until Wednesday, so we had a whole day to spend there.22

Skye was one of my favourite parts of the holiday. Something about the remote ruggedness of the isle appealed to me, as we drove between the isolated and relatively small seaside towns, crossing muillins (mountains), lochs, glens and rolling hills, with occasional views of cliffs, frothing streams, waterfalls, and the heaving ocean. The isle was windswept and rainy, untamed and wild, and I loved it. The fact that civilization had not fully brought this part of the world under reign yet (and the fact that it was in our own Great Britain) was lovely. Coastal villages still struggled for survival, depending almost entirely on tourism for their livings. Once there was a great fishing industry, but now it has declined. I could only imagine what the place was like in winter. All the traffic on the roads was from tourists. The towns must be “ghost-towns”, as mom said. All of this only added to their appeal. What better setting than Skye to let my creative juices run, in the dead of winter, with the howling wind and the whipping rain, and the surging ocean on my doorstep? Ah - some day, perhaps. My plan is to hike around the coast of Britain during my gap year, or perhaps to cycle. I will certainly pay a visit to Skye, and who knows, take up a more permanent residence? But that’s only speculation. The world is so much bigger than Skye, and I’d like to see – well, all of it, before I settle down. Whether or not that’s possible is another matter, but there’s no harm in trying (or is there?).23

We drove to Portree because Ronnie recommended it. As it turns out, Portree could be called the ‘capital’ of Skye, if there ever officially was one. Portree is where you’ll find all the restaurants, shops and Scottish culture of the isle. Eventually we found a B&B owned by a retired woman who only accepted people if there were no other B&B’s available. She was a very kindly old woman, plump with wispy grey hair and rheumy, glazed eyes. She took my hand warmly when she met me and pulled me half up the steps, patting my hand and asking how I was. I don’t think she was entirely ‘with it’, but it was certainly preferable to a cold and irritable reception. Before this holiday, I never fully realised how important hospitality really is.24

We had a nice room on the top floor with a lovely view of the harbour and the ocean with all the yachts lined up for racing. We had a tray of tea and short bread waiting for us and our own bathroom. The room was neat and clean and fresh, and it wasn’t musty.25

After we’d got settled in, we decided to explore Portree and find some lunch. Now Skye is lovely, but there isn’t an awful lot to do. We found a chip shop by the sea and had some lunch. I had scampi and chips. That’s another thing about Scotland – there isn’t a great deal of healthy food around. The B&B’s all serve fry-ups (bacon, eggs, etc), and there isn’t a great market for a green lunch either. But I was engaged in a policy of ‘self-indulgence’, so I didn’t mind at the time. After we’d eaten (nearly getting mobbed by a bunch of seagulls), we walked Maisie and had a tour through the town. Mom found a Cadleigh (pronounced Kay-leigh) which was going to be on at 8:00pm, so we decided to go there after dinner. We went back to the B&B to chill out for a bit and then went to lunch at 6:00. I had a Scottish beef burger (Scottish burgers are in my opinion, the best in the world), which I was very happy with, and a pint of Guinness, which I was also very happy with (it was ‘ice cold’).26

After dinner we walked the dog again (we were feeling guilty about leaving Maisie in the boot for so long – the previous B&B and this one did not accept dogs), and we heard the playing of bag-pipes. I located where it was coming from, and peered expectantly towards the upper level of the town (it sloped upwards, and we were on the lower level by the sea at the time), and soon enough, from behind a cluster of houses, a procession of Scottish cadets in their full regalia came parading into view playing “some well-known Scottish song” (says Mom), which we don’t know the name of. It was quite stirring to see and hear – as though the old traditions of the place still lived. How can I describe it? On the right was the roaring sea where the fishing trade had thrived not long ago, and today, it was packed with yachts. Up above, beyond the polished green fence with its golden pickets, framed by antique and quaint-looking houses, marched an apparition from the past, playing uncaringly upon their booming bag-pipes in their tartan kilts, a threnody from the past. Tourists around us quickened their pace to follow the procession, and there was already a crowd following behind them. Unfortunately, they were heading towards the ‘pipes-and-drums’ Cadleigh, at the other side of town from the one which we were going to.27

Eventually we found our Cadleigh and took a seat. It lasted for two hours, and while some of the performers were either nervous or not very good, it was still two hours of Scottish culture to absorb. The bagpipes nearly deafened us all in such a confined space, but I found myself transfixed by the haunting melodies of the Harpist. The girls’ fingers seemed to float over the harp, only ever brushing against them so very slightly, as she played a haunting, melancholic love ballad which held the room mesmerised for a while. It was nice to get to bed though, because my back was stiff and I had a crick in the neck. 28

However, lying in bed I couldn’t sleep. I had time to think. The music of the Cadleigh was still ringing in my ears, and I remember being stuck with the strength of Scottish pride. All of the singing had been in Gaelic, and it was powerful but soft and melodic at the same time. The woman who hosted the Cadleigh referred to the English as “the politicians down south”, not wanting to offend anybody in the audience, but it was obvious that the Scottish still harboured animosity towards the English for “attempting to stamp out their culture”, hundreds of years ago. 29

We left first thing in the morning after another gritty breakfast and speeded to the Bridge of Skye, or The Kyle of Lochalsh, as I think the town is called, at which Ronnie was to pick me up on his fishing boat and I was to say goodbye to mom for the day. I had been speculating on Ronnie ever since I’d heard that we were going to see him. I’d met Ronnie three years previously on our last trip to Scotland, but being a ‘minor’, our social interactions had been on a subtly different level. Elder to youngster, you know? Now I’m no longer a minor (or perhaps, I thought, that’s what he’d think), and so we could get to know each other better. I suppose we did.30

We drove right down to the dock where Ronnie’s fishing boat was tied up, and there he was, loitering around on the concrete platform. I remember not recognizing him, or at least being very surprised by his appearance, but only because I had not quite known what to expect. Since our last visit to Scotland, my memory of his face had blurred with time. Mom stopped the car and we got out, and Ronnie clasped my hand in his big, rough one and shook it while grinning at me with his wispy, straw-coloured hair drifting on the wind about his head. His face was ruddy, but his eyes were twinkling. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties; a big, brawny sailor of a man with anchors tattooed on his hairy forearms. 31

The air smelled of sea-salt, the wind was fresh and clean, and the cawing of seagulls provided a constant backdrop of sound. Ronnie remarked on how I’d grown, and greeted Mom in a boisterous way which did her good. Shortly afterwards, I was clambering onto the boat, which seemed to have been resting alongside another boat, possibly a cargo-boat, which was very big, and which was threaded with a kind of maze of rusty metal ledges, due to the fact that it’s cargo had been removed, thus creating huge, block-shaped voids which yawned expansively below us. We balanced our way along these rusty ledges, and I felt quite secure, although I got the impression that Ronnie was actually quite nervous – and I can’t blame him. After all, it would have put a sharp end to everything if I’d fallen down one of those gaping gaps and broken my neck.32

But I made it safely to the fishing boat, which was considerably smaller than its counterpart. Ronnie quickly untied the boat and started the engine, and we began to drift away, and I waved to Mother as she took photographs of us fading into the distance. The plan was that we would meet in Elgin later that night, as I was going to spend the rest of the day with Ronnie. Mother would drive around various towns and thread her way towards Ronnie’s home, which was in a north-easterly direction. And so I stood there, leaning on the railing and smiling in my wry, acute way, while Mom snapped photographs and faded into the distance, shrinking and shrinking as the engine and the waves pushed us inexorably further away. I didn’t like seeing mother shrink like that. It was unnerving. Having lived at home for all of my life, it made me contemplate what it would be like to leave.33

* * *34

I am continuing this journal on May 06, 2008. I stopped writing the above entry because there was simply so much to write, and – well, I guess I was lazy. I would like to remedy that now, and even though my memory is faded, fill in the gaps as best I can.35

So, we sailed away from the mainland and mother, and Skye was on our right, and the mainland was on our left, and both were shrouded with mist, and it really was a beautiful view. Ronnie took me up to the ‘captain’s cabin’ (I’ll call it that because I don’t know the real term), and I was surprised with how high-tech everything was. I also exchanged a few words with his deck-hands, although not many because they were Polish, and quite simple. But they were nice men, nonetheless, and one of them made me a cup of tea. I opened one of the windows and watched the waves, and I remember being struck by how huge they were. And they slapped against the boat and sprayed us, so that we had to close the windows, and all the time they rocked the boat back and forth, back and forth, and I felt myself getting queasier and queasier, with the saliva building up in my mouth. Fortunately, I wasn’t sick. We reached harbour before that point.36

I don’t remember the name of the town, but it was a typical little coastal town, with little cobbled streets and higgledy-piggledy cottages forming the majority of the houses. It was windy and fresh, and I liked it. I wandered around for a while because Ronnie had to carry out some repairs on the boat, or something. He gave me some money to get some food, and I walked around, looking at the place and the people, and eventually I sat down on a rocky beach and ate my lunch. After a while I walked back to the harbour and saw a seal playing in the water with a buoy or some other kind of litter, and I took some pictures on my phone. And then after a few hours, the boat was safely docked (it had to be pulled up a huge ramp which took some hours and many adjustments), and we were in the car on the way to Elgin. The drive was long, and the scenery was nice, and Ronnie bought us burgers, but it irked me that he threw the litter out of his car window. I thought about saying to him, ‘If you love your country so much, then why do you litter it?’37

Eventually we made it to Elgin, and their house was very nice. I walked in and mother was there with Ronnie’s partner, who was very taken with me, being a ‘young man’ and all, and part of the family (all of these things are very important to the Scottish, especially the further up North you get). I had a shower and got changed, and we talked for a while and drank for a while (the Scottish love their alcohol, especially the further up North you get, and they hate drinking alone), until we were tired and went to bed. I slept in their secondary living-room on the sofa.38

We spent most of the holiday visiting distant relatives. We visited George and his wife, and George got very drunk and kept shouting at me that I was his ‘pal,’ much to the amusement of Ronnie. I had a few beers too, although they didn’t affect me much. I drank a lot of ‘Miller’ up there. It seemed to be quite popular. I was glad to leave their house, I must say. George was really getting very boisterous in a bleary-eyed kind of way which made me feel awkward, and when I went to the bathroom I noticed how he’d pissed all over the toilet seat. I could also tell that his wife was unhappy (and also an alcoholic). My memory is a little fuzzy concerning the details, but on one of the days a lot of them came over to Ronnie’s house, which kind of took me by surprise. They were so loud and drunk and boisterous, and I had to retire after a while; I was tired and bloated, and I felt a little claustrophobic. Alright – I was anti-social. I guess that’s the main gist of it. But sometimes, I need to be. One of the clearest things I remember from that night is talking to Aunt Tiny and her sweet, smiling face when she bid me goodnight. Tiny has since passed away.39

One of the things about the holiday which stayed with me the most was our visit to Happy and Jenny. Happy is a retired sailor who is very old now, and who had to have an operation on his throat which meant that he lost his voice. He has to speak through other means. I seem to remember he had a grate in his throat which he held when he wanted to speak, and his voice would come out with a kind of quack-quack quality, like Donald Duck. He probably wouldn’t mind me saying that. He had deep, sparkling eyes which spoke of merriment. I remember being profoundly touched by the man and wondering to myself what kind of a person he had been before the operation and his health issues. My mother told me he used to be ‘the life of the party’, always singing and laughing. And so, I reflected upon how age can do these things to us. But, he seemed to have taken it alright, and I admire him for that. A funny incident from that visit was when Jenny brought out some Ainsley biscuits and said, ‘Aye, he’s a nigger but I like him.’ Happy just rolled his eyes at us and shook his head. I think that a lot of people up North still speak like that and don’t see anything wrong with it; especially the older generations. I found it all very amusing. Happy gave me a couple bottles of Miller before I left. As I said, I was touched by the man.40

The only other thing worth mentioning is our drive to Inverness, which I remember as a very gorgeous, clean, pastel-coloured city. I remember thinking how I wouldn’t mind living there for a while. I also remember how ridiculously fast Ronnie drove on the way there and how there was a little bit of tension between him and his partner. When we were walking, Ronnie seemed to stroll and really take his time, whereas his partner walked almost like a Chihuahua; very quickly and busily. Ronnie did an impression of her which was very funny. We split up for a while and I bought some stuff from a HMV music store. I remember noticing how many ‘scene kids’ there were in the city. I was still in my phase of being interested in such things back then. It’s funny what different things you notice when your values change. We met up again and sat down fest going on, although I didn’t buy any. Incidentally, I don’t eat pork, anymore.41

Well, I remember my head being saturated with thoughts throughout the holiday, and especially in the car observing the landscapes. I remember thinking how the ravines in the hills (cuillins) looked like veins of the living rock, and how the heather looked like moss from a distance. But I’m afraid that most of my reflections have faded from my mind, as I knew they would. Alas! I should’ve finished this entry back in August. I apologise. Not much else happened worth mentioning, and as usual, it was a pleasure to be home. But I had enjoyed my holiday. Scotland has a very fresh, untouched feel to it, and I don’t think that I have paid it my last visit by far. I’ve even thought of retiring there (even though that refers to something very far in the future).42